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Authors: Bruce Coville

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BOOK: Always October
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“Or man!”

“—that poor
woman
to do this. If she does come back, perhaps we can help her.”

We can barely help ourselves
, I thought.
What are we going to do for her?
Fortunately, I was smart enough not to say this out loud.

Another enormous crack of thunder made us both jump. To our surprise, the baby laughed.

“What a good Little Dumpling,” cooed Mom.

I made a face. “What kind of baby laughs at sudden noises?”

“A brave one, of course.”

The baby grinned at me over Mom's shoulder. It had chubby cheeks and huge green eyes. The smile was so adorable that, almost against my will, I put out a finger.

The baby grabbed on and began gumming.

It was soggy but funny.

“Oh, dear,” said Mom. “I bet he's hungry. I wonder if he's on solid food yet. Come on, Little Dumpling, let's rustle up some grub.”

In the kitchen Mom made me hold the baby while she worked the blender. Soon she had a bowl of vegetable glop that looked like something from a swamp. The baby actually seemed to like the stuff. At least it liked the first few spoonfuls. Then it started blowing out whenever she put some in its mouth. Soon goo was flying in all directions. When the baby landed some in my eye, I said, “I think Little Dumpling has had enough!”

The fact that the kid had managed to get me in the eye was fairly impressive, since I was holding it with its back to me.

“You're probably right.”

Mom's face and blouse were dotted with blobs of green. Even so, she looked really happy. She fetched a washcloth and wiped off my face, then the baby's. “Hold him for a bit longer while I get clean clothes,” she said when she was done.

I scowled, but I didn't really mind. It was kind of fun to have a baby around. I bounced Little Dumpling on my knee and sang one of Lily's bizarre songs. The baby laughed, a gurgling sound deep in its throat. I would have been almost sorry when Mom returned if it hadn't been for another sound I heard just before she got there—and the smell that followed.

“I think Little Dumpling has some, er,
dumplings
,” I said, holding the baby out to her.

Mom rolled her eyes. “I'm pretty sure there's a half box of paper diapers in Junk Room B. Go get them, would you?”

Yes, we have
two
junk rooms. That's because my father had been such a pack rat that it took two rooms to hold all his stuff. Actually, it's not fair to blame Dad for
all
the mess; it had been building up for at least four generations.

Given my other problems, I sincerely hope I haven't inherited the overwhelming-need-to-save-useless-crap gene that seems to run so deep in our family.

As I started to go, Mom added, “After you get those, scoot up to the attic and bring down the old rocker.”

I sighed but went to do as she asked.

The gentle creak as Mom rocked back and forth while crooning to the baby made the house feel warmer, despite the howling wind. I realized that since she had changed the diaper, she would know one thing for sure. “What's the verdict?” I asked. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy,” she replied. “Definitely.”

I was a little annoyed that she had been right.

After a few minutes of rocking she looked at me and said, “Better get back to that homework, son.”

I refrained from saying, “Better get back to your weaving, Mom,” and went to the Loom Room to fetch my math book.

She was still rocking when I returned to kiss her good night.

“Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite,” she said.

I know that's supposed to be a little blessing of some kind. Personally, I find it pretty creepy.

“I'm going to wait up, in case Little Dumpling's mother comes back,” she added as I left the room.

I should have seen what was coming right then.

5
(Lily)

OUTLAWS

W
hen I met Jake in the cemetery the next afternoon, I said, “You're not gonna believe what happened last night!”

He said exactly the same thing at exactly the same time.

We sounded a little like Sploot Fah, though we hadn't met him yet, of course.

I could tell Jacob was afraid I was going to punch him in the arm and shout, “Jinx! You owe me a Coke!”

He
could
have done the same thing to me, of course, except he gets so freaky about it that I knew he wouldn't. Which was why I didn't do it either. The first time I jinxed him, he wouldn't say a word until he actually went back to his house and got me a soda.

He can be so weird.

Finally Jake said, “You go first.”

I figured this bit of courtesy was because he assumed whatever news I had, his would be even cooler. But after I told him about seeing the person running out of the mausoleum the night before, and the glowing blue wall that blinked out when I touched it, he looked both amazed and a little deflated, as if he wasn't going to top my news after all.

Even so, his news was plenty weird. When he was done telling me, I cried, “OMG! What are you gonna do?”

Jake shrugged. “Mom probably took him to the police, or social services, or something like that while we were in school today.”

Only it turned out she hadn't, which Jacob told me on the way home the following afternoon.

“Why didn't she?” I asked, fascinated.

“She's still hoping the real mother will come back.”

“I sincerely doubt that will happen.”

I based this statement on personal experience.

Jacob nodded. “Me, too. Also, she's asked me not to tell anyone, which I think means we could get in trouble for this.”

“You told me.”

“You don't count.”

“Thanks a lot!”

“Come on, Lily, you know what I mean. Anyway, she didn't ask me to keep my mouth shut about Little Dumpling until this morning, and I had already told you by then—though I didn't tell
her
that. I probably would have told you anyway. I mean, you are my best friend. Besides, she got to tell someone, so it's only fair I get to do the same.”

“Who did she tell?”

“Mrs. McSweeney.”

That startled me. Mrs. McSweeney is my grandfather's cousin—which makes her my third cousin, or something like that. Even though we're related, we don't see each other that much. I don't think she and Grampa get along very well. Of course, Gramps doesn't get along with anyone very well. And Mrs. McSweeney does put up with him on occasion. I guess that makes her one of our closest friends.

It's a little pathetic.

“How come your mom told
her
?”

“She and Mom are great pals. Besides, Mom didn't really have a choice. The three of us have dinner together at least once a week, so it would have been almost impossible to keep Little Dumpling a secret.”

That stung a bit; Grampa and I had
never
had dinner with Mrs. McSweeney. I wondered if she had never invited us, or if Grampa just refused whenever she did. She might have given up asking before I even came to live with him.

Trying to get my mind off that, I went back to something else Jacob had said. “You're calling the baby Little Dumpling?”

He grinned and reminded me about the note in the basket. “Mom says Little Dumpling is a perfect nickname for him because he's cute as a dumpling. That seems kind of dumb to me. I mean, how cute can a dumpling be? But he is awful cute.”

That was when I realized that Jacob's mom wasn't the only one falling for the baby. I didn't say that, though.

I may be weird, but I'm not stupid.

By the time another two days had passed, it was clear Jacob's mom had no intention of
ever
taking the baby to the police, or anywhere else, for that matter.

“I'm starting to get really worried,” he told me one afternoon, his fingers tapping against his thumb as if he was trying to send a message in Morse code. “Last night Mom asked me to help her haul my old crib out of the attic so LD—”

“LD?”

“That's what we call the baby for short. Anyway, Mom wanted to set up the crib so he could stop sleeping in her dresser drawer. Lily, she's never going to go to the police!”

“You're, like, outlaws!” I cried, clapping my hands.

Jacob flopped back on the grass. “Great! As if flunking math wasn't enough, now I'm a criminal!”

“You don't understand,” I said softly. “It's the same with me and Grampa. After … after …” I paused, then finally said, “When I needed somewhere to go, social services wanted to send me to a foster home. They didn't think Grampa was suited to take care of me. He disagreed, and he came and, um, took me. I'd already been in a couple of foster homes by that time, one awful, the other really wonderful. I didn't care that it was wonderful—I wanted to be with Grampa. Which is how I ended up here. Now you don't have to worry about me telling about LD, because then you could tell on me, too. So your secret is safe.”

“So is yours,” said Jacob solemnly. We pressed the palms of our left hands together (it's more sacred that way, because the left hand is closer to the heart) and swore to guard each other's secrets.

About two weeks after LD arrived Jake and I were walking home together when he suddenly said, “Mom claims she's not worried about anyone finding out about the baby, but I don't believe her.”

We had just made it over the little bridge that crosses the stream running through the cemetery. I like to stand in the middle and watch the water flow underneath, but I can't when I'm with Jacob. Being on a bridge makes him too nervous.

I won't begin to describe the rituals he needs to get across one.

“Let's sit here,” I said, motioning to a big tree we both like. Once we had settled in, I said, “Okay, why don't you believe her?”

“Because we go three towns over to buy baby supplies!”

“Yep, that's a good sign that she's worried.”

“And yesterday when I pointed out to her that everyone around here knows who we are and how many people we have in our family, she said, ‘If it comes to it, we'll tell people LD is your cousin. Besides, it might not be for long. His mother could come back any day now.'”

“She doesn't believe that,” I said.

“I know! She's totally fallen for the kid!”

“So have you!”

“Have not!”

I laughed, and Jacob couldn't help but smile. “All right, I do kind of like him. I used some of my allowance to buy him this little green rattle. I totally got teased by some older kids who saw me doing it, but when LD shakes it and laughs, he's so cute I can hardly stand it.” He paused, then said, “I'm starting to worry that Mom might consider moving just so she can pretend he really is ours.”

“You can't do that!” I cried, panic-stricken.

“Well, I don't want to.” He looked away. “If my dad came back, he wouldn't know where to find us.”

I thought for a moment. “Okay, listen … I know you don't believe LD's mother is coming back, but from now on you have to pretend that you do.”

“Why?”

“So you can keep telling
your
mom you can't move, because you have to be here in case LD's mother does return!”

Jacob smiled. “Good plan.”

“Now you'd better head out. My grandfather is coming.”

I spoke too late. Grampa had spotted us and was heading in our direction. He did not look happy.

Jake scrambled to his feet, clearly ready to run. Grampa is only about five and a half feet tall, and to be honest, he's kind of scrawny. But he's got a glare that could bore a hole through an oak.

When he was about ten feet away, he pointed his clippers at me and snapped, “I thought I told you not to hang out with that boy, Lily!”

BOOK: Always October
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ads

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